


There are Moments (When it Seems Okay)

by ladyhoneydarlinglove



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, McGenji Week, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Prompt - Domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyhoneydarlinglove/pseuds/ladyhoneydarlinglove
Summary: Unsurprisingly, the spoiled prince of a crime empire doesn't know how to cook.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title (sort of) from REALiTi by Grimes

When Overwatch’s third attempted strike against the Shimada Clan fails in such a spectacularly embarrassing fashion Genji actively tries to block it from his memory, Strike Commander Morrison is forced to admit that he may have misjudged Overwatch’s capability in taking down an entire organized crime syndicate without at least a few underhanded tactics.

It pains him. Genji watches from the corner of the office as Morrison bites out the confession of his mistake through gritted teeth to Commander Reyes. Reyes says little in return, only sits behind his desk with his arms crossed, regarding Morrison with a perfectly neutral gaze, and addressing him with one word answers. By the time Morrison leaves, he looks furious enough to suffer an aneurysm. Genji can’t help but be impressed.

“You certainly know how to make a man angry,” Genji remarks as Commander Reyes begins pulling up Overwatch’s intel on the Shimadas.

“Helps when you’ve got history,” Reyes says, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as he motions for Genji to join him at the desk. “So, brief me on how badly he’s fucked things up for us.”

Blackwatch is ready to move by week’s end. Where Morrison tried—and failed—to use a direct approach, despite Genji’s endless insistence that the Shimada’s influence ran too deep for such tactics, Reyes favors a quiet takedown. He assembles a strike team of ten agents, handpicked by himself and vetted by Genji. Reyes doesn’t go with them when they leave—too many other messes to clean up—so he appoints McCree as the mission leader, with Genji as his second.

Blackwatch doesn't set up in Hanamura directly, the Shimada Clan on guard thanks to Overwatch’s failed antics. They turn instead to Yokohama, in a warehouse whose decrepit exterior neatly masks the fully outfitted safe house within. Genji expects Blackwatch to begin right away, but the flight was long and the hour late; the agents, McCree included, tell him they’ll begin operations tomorrow.

The delay leaves Genji restless and agitated, so he takes to Yokohama’s streets and rooftops for the night, flitting in and out of dark alleys and sleazy clubs, ears open for anything of interest. Nothing sticks, but Genji stays out for the night regardless, too anxious to go back to the safe house until dawn breaks over the horizon.

He slips in unnoticed, ready to return to his room so he can better lie to McCree when the man asks him about his sleeping habits, as ordered by Dr. Ziegler. Genji chafes at the idea of being assigned a glorified babysitter, but he supposes he cannot blame Dr. Ziegler for not trusting Genji to take care of himself. His track record is, in her own words, absolutely appalling.

The way to his room passes by the kitchen, the distinct sound of someone cooking reaching Genji’s ears. He pauses, peering into the space out of curiosity, and does a double take when he sees McCree standing at the stove, humming cheerily to himself as he tends to something in a frypan.

Genji steps into the kitchen. His footsteps make no sound, but McCree must sense his presence, as he turns around, fixing Genji with an entirely too warm grin. He wears sweatpants that ride low on his hips and a soft t-shirt that clings nicely to his shoulders and biceps; the effect is ruined by a cupcake patterned apron. “Mornin’,” McCree drawls. “Have fun out on the town last night?”

Behind his faceplate, Genji frowns, but he ignores the question.“What are you doing?” he asks instead, gaze darting between the messy counters and the neatly set table, already adorned with a steaming pot of American-style coffee and a pitcher of orange juice. To the right of the stove, McCree is amassing a large pile of toast, and a plate full of bacon and sausage.

McCree chuckles. “Making breakfast. What’s it look like I’m doing?” he says, graciously letting the issue of Genji’s late night wanderings drop.

Behind his faceplate, Genji’s brow furrows. “I was not aware you could cook.” he says, watching as McCree tends to whatever he has on the stove. It smells distinctly of fat and grease. “You do not seem the type.”

“Reckon I should be insulted by that,” McCree laughs. “I’ll have you know I spent years makin’ breakfast for my family and the Deadlocks before I joined up with Blackwatch. No one makes a better breakfast than Jesse McCree.”

“If one wishes to gorge themselves on fat and carbohydrates, I suppose,” Genji says, eyeing McCree’s pan critically.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little protein,” McCree replies, scooping more sausages onto the plate. “And the toast is whole grain.” 

Genji snorts. “My mistake then,” he says, leaning against the counter. “Truly yours is a breakfast of champions.”

“You can be mighty hurtful sometimes, y’know that?” McCree says, but his eyes shine with mirth. He appears strangely unguarded, resuming his cheerful hum as he moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs. Watching him be at ease puts a strange tightness in Genji’s chest.

McCree closes the refrigerator door, holding the egg carton out to Genji. “Care to join me?” he asks.

Genji bristles, teeth gritting and fists clenching as he exhales in a sharp burst from his nose. “Do you think yourself funny?” he spits, the tightness disappearing in favor of anger. “Mocking me as you do? When you know I cannot eat?” He flicks his wrist, shuriken sliding neatly into the spaces between his fingers. He won’t throw them, but the threat brings Genji comfort. He holds his head high, meeting McCree’s gaze directly. “How dare you…”

Genji trails off, pausing at the look on McCree’s face. McCree has one eyebrow raised, mouth set in an infuriating line that manages to portray both a frown and a smile, a trick of his Genji has yet to figure out. He stares back at Genji, singularly unimpressed with his display. The egg carton stays held out between them. Genji looks at it, and then back up at McCree.

“You are… serious,” Genji says.

The corner of McCree’s mouth twitches. “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he answers.

Genji’s gaze flicks to the egg carton. Behind his faceplate, warmth rises in Genji’s cheeks; he has yet to discern if those moments are his imagination or not. “I… do not know how to cook,” he admits after a moment, allowing his shuriken to withdraw and gingerly taking the egg carton from McCree’s grasp.

McCree smiles. “Really? Pampered son of a crime family never learned how to cook? Color me shocked.” He moves past Genji, pushing a large bowl his way. “Start by crackin’ the eggs in there. Figure that can’t be too hard, even for you.”

Genji huffs, muttering under his breath as he opens the egg carton. He picks up an egg, about to crack it against the rim of the bowl when McCree says, “Against the counter.”

Genji pauses. “Why?” he asks.

“Cleaner crack,” McCree explains. “Hopefully means you won’t have to go fishin’ bits of egg shell outta there.”

Genji eyes his back skeptically as McCree takes the plates of toast and meat to the table, but complies. All twelve eggs split in neat lines against the counter, opening easily when Genji then cracks them into the bowl. He refuses to admit he’s impressed.

“Now what?” Genji asks. McCree grabs a whisk from off the counter and hands it to Genji.

“Scramble ‘em up,” he answers cheerfully.

“How much?”

“Just until the white and the yolks are blended. And you’re sharp enough to figure out when that is,” he adds, cutting off Genji’s next question.

Genji wrinkles his nose, but offers no retort, turning to the eggs with trepidation. They feel oddly viscous when Genji sinks the whisk into the middle of the bowl and begins moving it back and forth slowly. The faint, fresh smell brings back memories of the egg white masks his mother allowed Genji to share with her as a child.

“Faster,” McCree commands from the other side of the kitchen.

Genji turns his head to glare at him. “You aren’t even looking—”

“I can hear you not going fast enough,” McCree says. “Put some elbow grease into it.”

Genji purses his lips, turning his glare to the eggs as he stirs them into a frenzy, whisk hitting the sides of the plastic bowl. “There,” Genji snaps, pushing the bowl towards McCree when he walks by. “Better?”

McCree peers into the bowl. “Perfect, actually,” he says, smiling. Genji kind of wants to punch him.

“What now?” he demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Salt and cracked pepper,” McCree says, pointing at the counter near the bowl.

Genji eyes the salt shaker and the pepper grinder dubiously. “How much?” he asks.

“Hmm. A dozen eggs, so… a teaspoon of each maybe?”

“You think I know how much that is?” Genji challenges, rolling his eyes before he remembers McCree can’t see them. “Can’t you just measure it?”

“You don’t learn anything if I do it for you,” McCree answers flatly. “It’d be about the size of a spoonful of sugar you’d stir into your coffee. That helpful?”

Genji petulantly refuses to answer. He adds the salt and pepper, whisking them into the eggs, more than ready to blame McCree if they end up seasoned horribly. McCree pulls out a clean frypan and motions Genji over. “Can you figure out how to turn on the stove?” McCree teases. Genji glares at him from behind his faceplate, shoving McCree to the side. The stove clicks once or twice before the flame ignites. “Well, look at that. He can be taught,” McCree says, laughing when Genji flips him off. “Turn the flame down low, and put the pan on.”

Genji does, while McCree sets a butter dish to his side. “Now half of that goes into the pan,” he instructs, earning a dubious look from Genji.

“That seems excessive,” he says.

“Look, you want good scrambled eggs, you use a lot of butter. That’s just facts.”

“You will give your teammates heart disease.”

“None of us are gonna live long enough to get heart disease,” McCree replies flippantly. “Might as well live it up while we can. Why do you think I still smoke?”

Genji sighs, but he adds the butter to the pan, watching with some trepidation as it begins to melt. “Perhaps you should take over from here,” Genji says, taking a step away from the stove, only to back into McCree. He blinks, unsure when McCree managed to step into his space. This close, it’s impossible not to notice how tall McCree is, and how broad his shoulders are.

“Really?” McCree smirks down at him. “You’re gonna back out now? What’s the matter, scared?”

He means it as a barb, and to Genji’s chagrin, it works. He huffs angrily, snatching the spatula McCree offers him from his grasp. “Fine,” he snaps. “What do I do?”

“Wait until the butter melts and starts to bubble up a little,” McCree instructs. “Then add the eggs all at once.” Genji obeys; the eggs sizzle when they hit the hot butter, the aroma surprisingly pleasant. It mingles well with the lingering smells of toast and pork fat. “Alright, now wait a little bit, let the bottom settle. See where it’s starting to cook around the edges?” Genji nods. “That’s what you want to see. Now push the cooked part to the side so more can touch the bottom of the pan. Yeah, just like that.”

Genji watches with fascination as he stirs the eggs around the pan, the raw golden yolks slowly giving way to soft, pale yellow mounds. When the last of the uncooked egg has disappeared, Genji turns his head back and asks McCree, “Are they done now?”

McCree flashes him a smile. “Yup. See how there’s no more raw egg, but it still looks kind of wet. That’s exactly what you want.” He pushes a plate Genji’s way. “See, not so hard.”

The possibly imaginary heat flushes back into Genji’s cheeks as he tips the eggs onto the plate, his chest swelling with a sense of satisfaction Genji hasn’t felt since his father would praise him during his training. It’s ridiculous, to be so proud of something so trivial. It’s a plate of eggs.

McCree pinches a piece from the plate, Genji refusing to acknowledge the way his breath catches in his throat when McCree brings it to his mouth. The grin that follows has Genji’s heart beating a sudden strange rhythm in his chest. “Hey, those are damn good!” McCree exclaims, and for a moment Genji forgets how to breathe. “I think you might be a natural at this.”

Genji’s fingers fidget nervously against the plate as he steps away, McCree presence overwhelming. “You mock me,” he says, wincing when his tone switches from annoyance to warmth against his will.

“Hey, I’m being serious.” McCree follows Genji to the table. “I know you can’t eat but—”

“Ugh,” comes a disgusted voice from the entryway. “American breakfast again, McCree?”

Two Blackwatch agents step into the kitchen. The voice belong to a man; Genji knows nothing about him except that he has the most impressive fake smile Genji has ever seen. The other is a short woman with dark skin who only wears long sleeves and pants. She slugs the man in the arm, and he lets out a small noise of pain. “What was that for?” he demands, glaring at her.

“For being an ass,” she answer easily, taking a seat and immediately reaching for the coffee. “We can have rice porridge when it’s your turn to cook. Good morning, Genji,” she adds, smiling at him. Genji smiles back, before remembering she can’t see it.

Two more agents step into the kitchen as McCree bickers with the man on what constitutes a proper breakfast, offering quiet greetings before taking their seats at the table. Conversation flows easily as people begin to help themselves to food, and a knot forms in Genji’s stomach. He casts a forlorn look at his plate of eggs, tamping down a sigh as the familiar black cloud of isolation settles over him, sinking deep into his shoulders and crawling unpleasantly up the back of his neck.

He doesn’t belong here. Genji’s not certain he belongs anywhere anymore.

He turns to make a quiet exist, taking exactly two steps before McCree steps into his way, and holds out a small mug. Genji blinks, distress dissipating in lieu of surprise. “What is it?” he asks.

McCree grins. “Coffee.”

Genji tilts his head down and to the right, attempting to convey a frown. “You know I can’t drink this,” he says, more confused than angry.

“Yeah you can. I asked Angie before we left; she said no eating, but as long as you drink ‘no more than four fluid ounces of coffee, or I will have your head, Jesse McCree!’,” his voice pitching upwards in a terrible impression of Dr. Ziegler, “you should be fine.”

Genji stares. “You… asked. Before we left,” he repeats.

McCree shrugs. “Didn’t want you feelin’ left out at breakfast,” he explains, as though it were obvious. “You don’t have to drink it, but it’s something to keep your hands busy, at least.”

Genji continues to stare even as his hands wrap around the offered coffee. His sensors can’t detect the warmth of the cup, but when Genji brings it closer, the smell wafts pleasantly over him, strong and toasty. He clutches the cup close to his chest as he watches McCree take his seat the breakfast table, laughing at something unheard.

McCree had asked Dr. Ziegler if Genji could drink, so he wouldn’t be alone at breakfast.

Slowly, Genji steps over to the table, taking a seat in between McCree and the man who complained earlier. He doesn’t drink, too conscious of his marred visage to take off his faceplate just yet, but he holds the cup close to his chest, inhaling the warm scent of the coffee.

The strange tightness in his chest from earlier has returned. Genji will have to ask Dr. Zeigler to investigate its cause when he returns.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes, this is largely unedited.
> 
> If you too enjoy cowboys and cyborgs destroying your life, hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ladyhoneylove) or [tumblr](http://ladyhoneydarlinglove.tumblr.com/).


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